


Domestic Bliss

by Anonymous



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction, Welsh Actor RPF
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alcohol, Blow Jobs, Body Image, Comfort, Consent Issues, F/M, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Food, Hand Jobs, Insecurity, Love, Masturbation, Romantic Fluff, Sappy, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Indulgent, Singing, Slow Dancing, Voyeurism, fics that say more about the writer than the reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2020-05-13 00:09:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19239871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: A series of Domestic Bliss scenarios. Snippets of not-quite-linear happenings because unfortunately, you can't make a series anonymous.Tags will be added as the work progresses.





	1. And, lastly, you were there

**Author's Note:**

> I watched Good Omens, got a crush and had to get this out of my system because it was hindering my daily life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: first time, body image issues, and insecurity.
> 
> Tags will be added as more chapters get posted. I'll specify the content warnings chapter by chapter so that any reader may be able to choose whether to proceed or not according to their needs. Take care of yourselves y'all.

You were nervous. No, that wasn't right, it was worse than that: you were panicky.

You could feel it mount behind your collarbones, the kind of red-hot panic you get when you’re about to do something you’ve been anticipating for ages, jittery excitement making the hair on your arms stand on end, but fear and anxiety shackling your ankles and weighing them stuck to the ground. You could swear you’d been ready for this ever since the thought formed in your head, but when you'd actually remembered what it entailed, the fear had taken hold instead. Calling it fear was not quite right, though. You had faith in him, and you felt safe to a point, but your bones were rattling as if you were trembling on the inside. 

In reality, you were not moving at all. The only way he could see your nervousness was by reading you so clearly and being familiar with your demeanour, see it in the way you were standing perfectly still like it was so rare for you to do. But then again, the fact that Michael could read you so well was exactly why you trusted him enough for this to happen. This wasn't coming out of the blue, either. In fact, the number of times you’d talked about it was so hard to count that you were surprised you hadn't eventually gotten bored of the whole ordeal and decided to give up and call it a day. Every conversation had been the same, with him trying to talk you down and you pushing for him to understand that it really was your own completely honest choice. There was no doubt about it. You were just scared shitless, too. After all, you were an expert at emotional multitasking.

Michael stood in front of you. You lowered your eyes, unable to look into his face, and looked at yourself from above, trying to see yourself how he might see you. You pulled at your t-shirt absentmindedly, not entirely happy with the silhouette of your breasts through the fabric. It had taken a while for you to be comfortable enough to not wear a bra in front of him, but he hadn’t been the reason for your discomfort, far from it in fact. Your body had always felt like an obstacle to you, and it was part of the reason you were so scared now, too. You felt particularly vulnerable and the added layer might have helped in that particular moment. It really didn’t matter how many careful, comforting words that you needed to hear he actually muttered. The real problem was believing them in the first place.

Still, he had said them. Michael had repeated and reiterated them so many times, whispered them against your cheeks and your lips, used them to caress your neck and fill the warm space in your chest on those interminable nights of making out on his sofa with no intention of doing anything else. Even though the most rational part of your brain believed that he had meant every single one of them, you just couldn’t quite wrap your head around deserving them.

“I feel like you might think this is what you have to do,” he’d explained in the most patient voice every time you’d talked about it, “but you don’t owe me and I’m not expecting this from you, especially if you’re not ready.”

The entire situation could have made you laugh if you hadn’t been so caught up in your own feelings. He’d handled you like the most treasured, fragile porcelain from the moment you’d met, even before you’d timorously asked him to, and from the very first instant, when you were still so intimidated by him, it had made you feel - in very few words - safe.

You only raised your eyes when you noticed the tiny, careful movement of his feet slowly coming towards you. You looked into Michael’s face, the neat grey-ish curls and beard framing his face gently, and could see his mouth opening as he was about to speak. You already knew he was about to repeat the same words again, even when you’d finally gathered enough courage to ask for what you truly wanted.

His lips had barely started forming the words when you interrupted him, almost petulantly “I swear I really am ready.”

He paused with his mouth open, still determined to say something, but thought better of it, closing his mouth and wetting his lips with his tongue out of habit. He lowered his eyes for just a second, lifting one of his warm hands and ever so delicately stroking your left arm. He seemed to consider his next words carefully. You could tell he was going to give you an easy out out of a misguided sense of responsibility for what you knew was something he couldn’t fully grasp and couldn’t understand it only marginally depended on him.

“I understand, my love,” he tried anyway, “but there really is no hurry.” He smiled at you kindly, his fingertips were so light on your skin his touch almost tickled.

You saw so much devotion in his eyes, and it was all it took to give you the resolve you needed.

From one second to the next, your body uncoiled. The tightness left its spot somewhere in your upper thighs, where you hadn’t even noticed it taking possession of your muscles. You could see the exact moment he noticed your change and you smiled at him too, lifting your right hand to rest it on top of his, stopping his gentle motion and urging it to become firmer on your skin.

Michael stepped closer and touched your waist with his other hand, still delicate but surer than before, less comforting and more urgent. You left his hand on your arm to reach for his neck, pulling him into a supple kiss. Your lips touched once, twice, ever so soft against yours, the hairs of his beard and moustache grazing lightly against your chin and upper lip, far from an unfamiliar touch. 

When he moved his hand underneath your shirt and started caressing the skin above the elastic of your shorts, your nerves flared up again and the muscles under your soft belly clenched, enough for him to notice and pull his hands and lips away in a swift movement, afraid he’d somehow harmed you.

Before he could step back completely, eager to reassure you once again that he could wait for a different day or never at all, you made your touch on his neck more insistent and almost pleaded, “It’s okay.” 

You moved to grasp his left hand in your right and brought it to your own cheek, leaning heavily into it and going for a reassuring smile. At that moment you realised that you had never been surer, but the nerves hadn’t dissipated yet and you knew it would take some patience still to make it work. Nevertheless, about one thing you had no doubt: Michael would never run out of patience with you.

“Please,” he whispered, his warm touch on your cheek making you dizzy, “tell me what you want.”

You breathed shakily, heat surging ever lower from deep within your abdomen. He touched your waist again, through the fabric of your shirt, and you circled both his wrists with your fingers, trying to make sure that he wouldn’t let go of you when you moved. Then, you stepped blindly backwards, moving your feet towards the bed you knew was behind you and not once did he take his touch or eyes from you again. You knew unquestioningly that it would have been just the same if you hadn’t been holding him in place against you.

Only when you felt the edge of his bed hit the back of your knees, did you finally let go of his wrists and sat down on the covers, trying your best not to look away from him and thanking the universe for your sudden smoothness of movement. He stood between your open legs looking adoringly down at you, his gentle smile unwavering.

You took advantage of your lowered position to take in the sight of him in his soft blue sweatpants and grey t-shirt. You’d been the one to ask to do this on a night like any other when you would both relax in front of a movie without pretence, preferring the placidness of a casual night together to the stressful expectation of having to dress up and make a huge ordeal out of it. You were already nervous enough without having to worry about the make-up and clothing that would be needed for a grand night out, and you needed the reassurance of him loving that part of you that you’d kept for yourself in fear of not being enough when you were at your barest.

“Can I touch you?” he asked, interrupting your thoughts about none other than him. You felt silly, how in love would one need to be to get lost in thoughts about the person they love while they’re with them?

You shivered and answered breathily, “Yes,” the please was left unsaid but hung heavy in the air.

He lowered himself on his knees, stooping even lower than you were, and put his palms at the end of your thighs, lightly touching the skin with his fingertips. His attentive gaze didn’t stray from your eyes when he bent and turned his head slightly to reach with his lips to the inside of your left knee.

At the first touch of his lips, a muted gasp left your mouth, and a disembodied pressure on your sternum made your chest feel like it was caving unto itself. He took your reaction as encouragement and let his lips glide ever closer to your groin in slow, careful kisses. When he reached the hem of your shorts, you halted him by pushing a hand in his thick curls. You were ready for something, but you weren’t sure you were quite _ there _ yet. 

He straightened up and away from your thighs and let his hands fall to caress your calves while murmuring a low, “I’m sorry.” You thought you would have to try to persuade him again that you wanted this, but he seemed to understand that you weren’t asking him to stop and after a beat he added, smiling lightly, “Maybe that’s for another time.” Then he stood up and sat next to you, his torso turned so you could look at each other. He rested his hand in the middle of your thigh and moved his face towards yours, looking down at your lips so intently that from where you were, his eyes seemed closed. 

You waited, but his kiss never came, the only touch his nose nudging yours in an almost childish gesture urging you to take the first step this time. So you did. You closed the distance between your mouths and brought your hand to his jaw, moving your thumb back and forth on the bone in the smallest of strokes. He raised both his hands and rested them on the naked strip of your hips peeking out from your shorts.

Your mouths moved languidly against one another, tongues caressing in a velvety touch, and when you finally separated it was just enough for him to ask “Can I touch your skin?” and for you to nod hastily and surge back into kissing with urgency. He moved his hands smoothly and let them slide under your shirt, his hot palms moving higher on the skin of your waist and stomach now, leaving searing handprints and shivers on their path. 

When he reached the skin just below your breasts, you broke away from his lips, eyes still closed as you leaned your forehead heavily against his. You breathed out a shaky “Wait.” and he stopped his motion just as he’d done before, but didn’t take his hands away because you were still hanging onto his neck, seeking contact. You took a couple of deep breaths and sat back just enough to look into his eyes. 

You could see he was tense, bracing himself some kind of rejection and ready to stop at your very first word. “Can you lie down, please?” you asked in close to a squeak and his expression softened, a small smile resurfacing on his lips. He nodded slightly and took his hands off your skin, but not before absent-mindedly stroking your abdomen with his thumbs. You smiled to yourself at the motion and watched him turn for a second while he settled better on the bed.

He laid reclining back against a couple of pillows propped up on the bed frame, not quite lying down and not quite sitting, and rested his hands on his stomach over his t-shirt, looking at you and waiting for your next move with a patient smile still fixed on his face. You returned it and crawled on the bed on your knees, sitting back on your calves when you’d reached his side.

You moved your fingers to the waistband of his trousers and asked him a whispered “Can I?” and when he nodded, you hooked them against the covered skin and started pulling his pants down. He propped himself on his hands to lift his hips and help you get the fabric out from under his butt, then sat back down while you slid the pants all the way off his legs and tossing them over the edge of the bed. He was still wearing his underwear and t-shirt.

Before you could go for his boxers, he sat up and cupped your face in his hands, going for a quick encouraging kiss. “You’re doing so well,” he said gently. You smiled and leaned your cheek against his palm, relishing in his words, before nudging him to sit back down so you could get to work on his underwear.

You concentrated intensely on the motion of your hands pulling the garment down, and when it was finally gone you looked at his body. The t-shirt was riding up on his soft belly and his erection was lying against his lower abdomen, uncut and framed by more of his grey-ish curls. Your mouth didn’t water at the sight, but it was a close thing.

When you finally looked into Michael’s face, you could see something there that could almost resemble embarrassment. You knew that wasn’t exactly it, but the faint red on his cheeks and the slightly accelerated rhythm of the up-and-down movement of the breaths in his chest gave the impression of it. Perhaps some of it was self-consciousness at being on display and your own stillness while you inspected his body, but you could tell that mostly, it was anticipation.

You straddled his thighs in a move swift enough it surprised even yourself. You sat motionless for just another minute while he kept looking intently into your eyes, trying to anticipate your next move. It would have been impossible, though, because not even you were sure of what it was going to be.

You completely neglected his erect penis and went straight for the hem of his t-shirt, urging his arms up so that you could take it off him and throw it to join the rest of his clothes on the floor. His naked body gave you enough pause for your timorousness to flare up again, but you let your nails scrape the kinky hair of his chest and the heat from his body against your fingertips anchored you to the spot, keeping you from drifting away into your own thoughts.

He covered your hands on his chest with his, neither urging your touch nor trying to draw them away from his body. He seemed to have read the need for encouragement in your expression and that was all his touch meant. You stayed like that for a beat or two, then he slid his palms on your forearms and asked again, “Can I touch you?”

He said it with such purpose that it felt like the most important question he could ever ask, like your answer would be vital or deadly to him, and for a moment your breathing wouldn’t come. So you just nodded.

His hands fell from your arms and gently on your thighs once again. When he reached your shorts he didn’t stop this time, and slid his fingers under the fabric, making it fold over your skin higher towards the crease where the leg meets the hip and rested his thumbs right there. His fingertips were barely peeking out from the elastic riding low on your waist. 

In the meantime, you had let your own hands roam upon his torso, picking ever so delicately and almost curiously at the small nubs of his nipples and exploring lower, open palms and fingers trying to take in every inch of his skin. You stopped only to rest your hands at his hips, in a mirror of his own position. You finally made up your mind and moved your right hand, taking his erection in the circle of your fingers and squeezing gently, afraid to hurt him.

His breath hitched imperceptibly, so faint you would have surely missed it if not for his grip on your thighs tightening slightly, making you look up from his cock and into his face. His eyes had closed at the touch. 

You took your hand off him and he looked at you again, almost alarmed. You held back the giggle that threatened to spill out and lifted your body, moving carefully backwards on your knees and making his hands slip away from your skin. When you stopped, he didn’t look alarmed anymore, but he definitely wasn’t expecting what you did next.

One corner of your mouth lifted in what you assumed looked like a devilish little smile, and lowered your face to his erection, opening your mouth and breathing hotly over the head of his cock.

He gasped out a small “Oh” and a half-hearted “You really don’t ne-” before you took the tip of his penis into your mouth and let your tongue press flat against his slit, whatever he’d been about to say forgotten. You looked up at him from your position between his legs and you saw that he was struggling to keep his eyes open and that his hands were clasping the sheet by his sides tightly. 

You smiled clumsily around his shaft and ventured further down, determined to take as much of him as you could into your mouth while you held the base in the circle of your hand. The head hit the back of your throat and you paused, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath through your nose to steady yourself. You couldn’t be certain, but you suspected that if he noticed even the slightest sign of distress, Michael would pull you off of him and not let you try again in fear that you were hurt.

You loved him for his patient and caring nature the most, but this was something that you wouldn’t let him take away from you.

You regained some composure and concentrated on setting a slow rhythm, letting your lips and mouth glide up and down his cock, flattening or moving your tongue against his skin at intervals. Pretty soon you could hear his breathing get laboured until suddenly you felt one of his hands on your shoulder and immediately stopped, pulling your mouth off and sitting up to look at his face, afraid that you’d done something wrong.

Michael was panting slightly, eyes glinting and a tiny mollified smile on his lips. “I think that’s okay for now,” he giggled. You covered your own proud smirk with your hand and he spoke again, gesturing towards you with his open hands, “Come here, please.”

You made your way forward to sit on his upper thighs again and cupped his neck, lowering your face to his so you could kiss and he didn’t hesitate to meet you halfway. You exchanged kisses like that for a while, trying to cool down and relishing in each other’s mouths, pausing here and there to deepen the brush of your tongues. He reprised the gentle caress on your thighs and soon enough he was nudging at the waistband of your shorts, asking to see more of your body.

You separated briefly to take off your shorts and top but before you could, your brain caught up to you and you froze. You could tell that something on your expression had gone sour because Michael’s own smile turned into a worried line and he cupped your cheeks with his gentle hands again.

“It’s okay,” he murmured softly as if trying not to spook you. You could see the irony of him lying bare in front of your eyes and reassuring you as if you weren’t the one still wearing clothes. “We can just kiss, or we can stop entirely if that’s what you want.”

You willed yourself to raise your eyes to look directly into his and tried to force out a smile that was less fretful than you were feeling. “I want this,” you said with conviction, but it came out quieter than you’d intended.

“Are you sure?” he insisted, still patient. When you responded only with a nod, he pressed on, with an almost painful expression, “I need you to say it.”

“Yes,” you didn’t waver. The word came out clearly if a little quiet, he searched into your eyes for a moment before nodding - you suspected it was more to himself than to you - and lowering his hands to your thighs again as if giving you the go-ahead.

You squared your shoulders and made quick work of shedding your shorts and panties, before sitting back on his thighs and taking off your top too, sitting completely bare under his tender gaze. You shuddered slightly, resisting the urge to cross your arms and hide your naked skin. You could feel intense heat setting your whole face aflame, and the low wave of arousal that had been dancing in your lower abdomen had somewhat dulled. You realised you were unable to look into Michael’s eyes.

“You are so gorgeous.” He had spoken in so quiet a voice that the surprise of it was enough to make you snap your head up to look at him. Michael’s gaze was roaming over your body and face slowly and ceaselessly as if trying to take in all of you like he would never get the chance again, but that wasn’t what gave you pause. You could see such raw adoration in his eyes that it rooted you to the spot and choked the breath in your throat.

You had no idea what your face was doing, but you imagined you must have looked quite shaken, with your wordless mouth and eyes open wide. When Michael’s eyes settled on your face again, his expression went from adoration to panic in a blink and he spluttered to comfort you, but before he could, you were smiling painfully and your mouth had moved of its own accord. “I love you so much,” you told him.

He breathed a sigh of relief and struggled to keep his hands to himself, still unwilling to touch you while he wasn’t sure you wanted him to, but aching for contact.

You pushed him delicately back to settle more heavily on the pillows and put your hands around his shoulders in a tender hug, closing your eyes to rest your cheek against his and letting your breasts press against his chest. He circled your waist with his arms and squeezed you almost painfully against his body, his still-erect penis pressed between your bellies.

You separated, not breaking contact on each other’s bodies with your hands. “Please, touch me,” you pleaded, even though he hadn’t shown any intention of taking his hands off you.

He understood what you meant, and let his hands move from your waist to the crease of your thighs again, lower and lower until he caressed your knees. He moved his hands to the sides of your legs and moved up again, coming to rest on your glutes and ever so slightly squeezing the cheeks so that your holes felt more exposed. The air against your skin made you shiver slightly, and you couldn’t control the small hitched breaths that left your mouth. He repeated the movement a couple more times, then he let his hands roam higher across your hips and waist and finally touched your breasts, grasping them from the underside and squeezing gently. He moved one of his hands so he could press his thumb and index fingers around one of your nipples and moved his head closer to the other bosom to kiss the other nipple, biting it carefully and wetly licking the hardening nub, before doing the same on the other side. 

He kept at it, nosing and nudging with his lips and fingers at your breasts, before moving his mouth to the middle of your upper abdomen and leaving a trail of kisses toward your bellybutton.

When he couldn’t reach anymore, he left one last kiss and looked up at you, letting his hands rest on your hips, his thumbs moving back and forth thoughtlessly. You met his eyes and he asked you “Do you want me to… or do you want to be the one to do it?”

You put your own hand over one of his and attempted a nervous smile before answering, “Please, go on.” Then you took your hand away again so he could move.

He slid his left hand over your ass again, while he pressed the flat of his right palm against your underbelly, your breath turning shaky. He lightly scraped his fingertips against your pubic hair, before pushing firmly against your body, trying to make you relax back some more against his thighs for easier access. You complied, opening your legs wider and putting yourself on display. The position wasn’t the most practical, but he still managed to press his thumb against your clitoris, moving side to side against your hood. Your breath faltered again, and you couldn’t suppress a small whimper. You could feel yourself getting wetter.

He stopped the motion of his thumb and turned the palm of his hand to cup your vulva, using his index and middle finger to lightly massage at your opening before finally sliding one finger inside. The muscles of your pelvis tightened instinctively around his touch and he slowed his movement, going carefully. You willed yourself to release the tension and nudged his hand forward with a touch of your fingers against his wrist. His slid his finger in and out a few times before feeling you loose enough to add another, quickening his motion the slightest bit. 

Your breath was now coming out in lazy, quiet moans, while he murmured sweet nothings in a voice so low you couldn’t discern the words. You thought you heard a mumbled “You’re so warm,” and a few variations of “You’re so beautiful.” It made you smile.

When you felt the pressure inside you start to mount against his fingertips, you willed yourself to stop him with a hasty touch to his forearm, reluctant for this to end before you could take him inside. He halted and looked into your face, worried that he might have done something wrong, but you reassured him, blush high on your cheeks “It’s enough, I’m ready.” He slipped his fingers out and moved his slightly sticky hand to mirror the other that was still resting on your upper thigh. You were too aroused to mind.

You took a deep breath and lifted your hips off of him, reaching for his still erect penis, the tip of it now wet with excitement. You took it in your fingers and stroked it a couple of times before finally angling it towards your own opening, and slowly lowered yourself onto him. His hands tightened imperceptibly on your legs.

The first touch of his girt at your entrance was uncomfortable like his smaller fingers hadn’t been, but your wetness was enough for your body to get used to him pretty quickly, and after just a few agonizing moments he was completely sheathed inside you.

You paused, letting the sensation of being filled wash over you, and tried to slow down your breathing. Then you made the slightest movement, resting your hands high on his chest and pushing your pelvis forwards and backwards on him, just letting him move inside you in slow circles. You could tell that he was straining to hold his hips still. You kept a painstaking rhythm, but soon enough you started moving faster, your body sliding up and down on him so you could have his cock fill you up, again and again, so lost in the motion that you had completely given up any pretence of keeping your breathing under control.

Michael was moving his hands up and down your body, caressing your breasts and stomach, squeezing the skin in barely intentional movements and rather just struggling to take in the most of you with his touch. His hips had started mimicking the rhythm of your own, and a litany of words kept falling out of his mouth between each groan and moan. You couldn’t keep track of how many times you heard him say “So tight… and hot… so beautiful, so warm...” not that you were overly worried about keeping count.

As the motion of your bodies against each other became frantic, your gasps came out higher and louder. You could feel your muscles coiling tightly deep inside every time his cock pushed in. Your faces kept getting closer and closer, his beard scraping against your skin and wet mouths sliding together and seeking fast kisses. You were both panting too hard to make contact for more than a few seconds.

Just when the pressure inside you was becoming unbearable and you could feel yourself edging ever closer to coming, he started muttering “So close, so close… doing so well...” and you made yourself move even faster, trying to get him impossibly deeper. His body froze abruptly and all at once, and you felt his skin tremble under your hands, his cock was buried deep within you and his thrusts turned small and unsteady. You realised he was coming inside you and the thought of it pushed you over the edge with him, your pussy squeezing around him tighter than you ever thought it could, pulsing with pleasure, pulling a loud moan from his throat and leaving you to gasp soundlessly against his cheek.

After a few seconds, he slumped back into the pillows. His arms were tight around your waist and dragged you down to rest your body against his chest. Excitement dimmed enough that you could feel the strain in the muscles of your thighs. You breathed against each other with your eyes closed and relaxation flowing through your bodies. 

You would have gladly fallen asleep like that, but he was still inside you, and the sensation was becoming more uncomfortable with every passing minute. You lifted yourself off his chest, but before you could completely separate, he brought his warm hands up to your neck and cupped your jaw, looking intensely into your eyes. You felt the heat of a blush spread all over your face. He seemed like he wanted to say something, but the words wouldn’t come to him and he stayed silent, only gifting you with a radiant smile, love pouring out from every inch of his expression. You smiled back, feeling like a bright warm light had started burning in your chest, and carefully let him slip out of you, lying on your side and facing him.

He turned to you and pressed closer, bringing his arm to your hip again, in a tender embrace. You lifted your hand and rested it on his cheek, brushing your nose lightly against his. You exchanged slow, lazy kisses, delicate enough that they could barely be called such. Neither of you could stop smiling.

You didn’t notice yourself slowly drifting into sleep, but just before you lost consciousness, you heard him whisper close to your ear, “I love you, my darling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	2. Two conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The subject was bound to come up eventually. And so it did, a while before and then immediately after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: revoked consent, extreme body issues, and cheesy (oh so unbearably cheesy) conversations about feelings.
> 
> Tags will be added as more chapters get posted. I'll specify the content warnings chapter by chapter so that any reader may be able to choose whether to proceed or not according to their needs. Take care of yourselves y'all.

You couldn't quite remember what film you'd ended up watching, distracted as you were thinking about who knows what. It wasn't that you were bored, it was just one of those days where your brain kept wandering just out of reach of settling on a single thread of thought.

It might have been because of the idleness.

Perhaps it was for the best. Had you had a specific thought to occupy your mind, you might have enjoyed the company just a touch less, but right now you were in too comfortable a position and too warm of an embrace to care about managing or not to think of a single thing above all.

The voices from the TV seemed to fluctuate from one of your ears to the other, unable to find an entrance and ultimately surrendering to just floating away into the next scene. Only here and there a louder line managed to make you concentrate on the movement on the screen, but never enough to actually grasp what the story was about. Maybe you'd already seen this movie, or maybe you were drifting into a tiredness you were unaware you were carrying.

You could tell that Michael was not as distracted, laughing and frowning at what you were sure was just the right time for someone who was actually following the narration. The fingers of his left hand were gentle and warm on your knee, his thumb playfully and absent-mindedly rubbing an indiscernible pattern into the skin of your thigh, your right leg draped over both his own.

He kept his other arm bent against the back of the couch, hand falling softly, just like the leg you hadn't lifted on the couch. You rested your head on his left shoulder, back arched towards him in what felt like the most comfortable position in the world, but that you suspected would bring you an ungodly amount of pain once you went to stand up. You couldn't manage to care, your eyes blinking longer and longer every time you closed them.

The next time you opened them, Michael was looking at you, head bent slightly towards the back of the couch and tiny smile curving the corner of his lips. You smiled back and he leaned towards you, soft mouth grazing yours in the tenderest touch, gone so fast that it left you yearning.

You moaned a little sound of disappointment, whiny like a spoiled child, and he laughed before turning his face back to you, creases around his eyes deepening with mirth. He leaned in again, more firmly this time, and met your lips with his own with a confident touch. You closed your eyes and let another sound - of contentment this time - escape your mouth, muffled by his own.

He pressed into you insistently, angling his face so your noses could align against each other with ease. As he deepened the kiss, he brought a hand up to your cheek, his thumb coming to rest on the slope of your cheekbone. You exchanged breaths for a few minutes, letting your tongues roll against one another, moving your lips in languid and lazy movements.

Without breaking contact, he moved his body so he could better turn to you, and brought his other arm to circle your waist and hold you snugly against his body. You lifted both your hands to his neck, your fingertips playing with the short curls at his nape, and let the kisses turn sloppy and wet. 

Pressed into his chest as you were, you understood immediately what he was trying to do, and you let yourself be pushed against the arm of the sofa where you could lean your weight and him against you. Your leg that had been resting over his was now bent halfway to the floor, his pelvis pressed half against the side of your hip where you could feel his growing erection easily.

Excitement made shivers break out on the skin of your arms, the thought of being enough to excite him still a new and thrilling feeling in your chest. You smiled into his hot and slick mouth, and pushed all you had into the enthusiastic kissing, your previous tiredness seemed to dissipate into nothingness.

You kept at it for what felt like hours, catching your shaky breaths between one kiss and the next, and soon enough Michael’s hands started to caress your neck, then wandering up and down your sides when he couldn’t quite get enough of you. You let your own arms roam too, hugging him around the neck to keep him on you as if there was any need at all, exploring the expanse of his back with your palms, and coming back again to his neck and cheeks to cradle his face in your touch. You were both relishing in each other's bodies.

It shouldn’t have been unexpected when his hands eventually landed on the naked skin of your waist where your t-shirt had slid up, but it surprised you anyway and suddenly, his palms felt unbearably hot, enough to burn you. Something lurched in your chest, an icy flare of panic lighting up where content warmth had been. You turned your mouth away from his, making him land on your neck, where he started leaving a trail of gentle kisses. Your hands shot up to his chest, trying to push him off you, but his touch was still scalding on your skin and the muscles in your arms failed, all the strength leaving them. You realised you were terrified.

“Wai- wait-” your voice struggled to come out, and the words were too faint to be comprehensible even for yourself. Feeling caged, your already accelerated breathing turned frantic. That seemed to be what alerted Michael.

He immediately took his hands and mouth away from your skin, moving as if he’d been the one burned. His hands landed on your hips still covered by your pants for just a moment, enough for him to straighten up and away. When the heat of his body on you was completely gone, you opened your eyes, only then realising you had been squeezing them shut.

He was sitting back, one leg underneath him, with his hands up as if showing himself to be harmless, and regarding you with the apprehension one might feel when trying to approach a scared animal. 

You sat straighter against the arm of the sofa and brought your knees up in front of you subconsciously, arms crossed around your torso in a sort of self-hug. You could hardly look at him, as ashamed as you were feeling. Before your brain could catch up to your mouth you blurted, “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s- it’s-” he hastened to reply. When no more words seemed to come to him, he sighed, bringing a hand to his forehead. His shoulders dropped. “Please don’t apologise, I’m the one at fault,” he started again, looking straight into your eyes and attempting a reassuring but guilty smile. It didn’t last in place long. “I should have noticed you weren’t enjoying it. I’m sorry.”

You shook your head, “I-” you hesitated, “I was.” When he didn’t answer you continued, “I was enjoying it, I just-” you closed your eyes again, frustrated with your inability to elaborate.

He shifted, moving so that he could sit more comfortably, and seemed conflicted about what he asked next, but did anyway. “Do you mind if I get closer?”

You shook your head again and moved your left leg over the side of the sofa, lowering the other knee so he could approach you easily. Loosening your hold around yourself proved to be considerably harder, but you managed, resting your hands in your lap and wringing your fingers anxiously. He scooted closer and kept facing you. When he reached a hand towards you, you almost failed to stop yourself from flinching but felt instantly relieved when he only took one of your hands into his.

“I can see how hard this is for you,” his tone was gentle but his eyes intent, he wet his lips before continuing, “but I need you to talk to me right now.”

You lowered your eyes and took a deep breath, concentrating on your intertwined hands so you didn’t have to look at his face. A few seconds passed before you managed to speak, but he didn’t rush you, “I- I don’t-” You closed your eyes and huffed, growing impatient with yourself. You could feel the telling prickle of tears in your eyes and your impatience started turning into annoyance.

He stroked the back of your hand with his other one and spoke softly, “It’s okay, you don’t have to rush.”

You looked up at him and a tear that had been resting in the corner of your eye slid down your cheek. You quickly raised your free hand to swipe at it, another tear followed suit. “I hate this,” you muttered crossly.

He went to pull his hands away, voice hurt, “I’m sorry, I-”

“No!” You squeezed his hand in yours so that he wouldn’t stop touching you and he stilled. “That’s not what I meant,” you hastened to explain, “I hate  _ this _ ,” you gestured to your face with a snap. “I hate that I can’t just speak to you, that I have to cry like a child,” you huffed again.

“It’s fine,” he shrugged slightly and smiled, “I don’t mind, as long as you talk to me.” He touched your cheek gently and wiped at the wetness with his thumb. “Can you tell me what happened?” he asked again, not unkindly.

You nodded and took his hand from your cheek into your own palm. “It’s just that,” you hesitated again, berating yourself for how childish what you were about to say sounded, “I don’t want you to see my body.”

“I don’t-” he started, but you stopped him. “I know what you’re going to say, and I know you mean it,” you explained, “but something in me just can’t accept it.”

He considered your words intently and didn’t answer at first. “I don’t understand,” he finally muttered, visibly at loss.

You nodded to yourself, you knew exactly how confusing and frustrating it must be from the outside because it felt doubly so for yourself and you at least had some idea of how your brain worked.

“Every inch of you,” he said empathically, “is desirable to me.” You huffed out a tiny disbelieving laugh, he pressed on, “I have seen you stand up with such confidence, looking indestructible, and I don’t understand how you could feel insecure when it’s just me.”

You stammered, fumbling for the right words, and shook your head slightly, settling on “That’s different.” He looked at you expectantly, waiting for elaboration. “I can choose what people see when I go out, when I pick the nicest clothes or make-up,” your voice faltered and cracked, “I can’t do that when you can see everything about me,” quieter still, “I can’t control the parts you see and how you see me.”

He sighed in exasperation, what he said next made you realise that it wasn’t directed at you, but at himself for not being able to find the words that would make you believe him, “I don’t want you to hide parts of yourself.” He slid his hands up to your forearms, still gentle but with a tighter hold as if he could push the words into your skin. “Not when it comes to your mind, nor your body. Nothing could make me stop wanting you” he concluded.

“But you can’t say that for sure,” you countered, matter-of-fact. “You’ve never seen my body, I have-” you faltered, tried again, “There are so many  _ ugly _ ” - the word almost choked you - “things about it that you haven’t seen yet.”

You saw that he was about to disagree so you pushed on. “I have this certainty,” you explained, “that as soon as you see them, they’re just going to be too much. Because they are,” a sob escaped your throat and you realised you were crying again. Your voice was shaky when you continued “They  _ are _ too much, and I can’t possibly expect you to just be blind to them.”

Michael lunged at you, pulling you into his arms and squeezing tightly, your hands trapped between your bodies uselessly. You hid your face in the curve of his neck and closed your eyes. As hard as you tried, you couldn’t stop the tears from flowing.

“What makes you think,” he spoke into your ear, you were pressed so close you felt the rumble of his voice in your chest, “that you won’t feel the way you say when you see me?”

“I won’t,” you shook your head against his shoulder, you tears had subsided a bit, “I couldn’t.”

He moved back so he could look into your face, “And why is that?”

“I just-”  _ don’t have the right to do that _ , you thought, but you knew even without saying it out loud that it sounded wrong. “You- you-” you tried again, even though what you were about to say instead sounded just as stupid, “You’re so-... much, and I’m not. So I don’t have the right to make that judgement.”

“What” it wasn’t a question. His gaze turned cold and his hands fell from your arms. He seemed disappointed.

“No, that’s not what I- What I mean is,” you rushed out, “I don’t know how I got here, how you could possibly choose me.” You had lifted your hands and were shaking them like they might help you get the point across, “I feel like an imposter, like any minute now you’re going to realise what a mistake it is to be with me and come out of some- some-” you struggled for the right word, “ _ confusion _ that made you stupid enough to think I was worth anything at all. Because you are so much better than me, how could I possibly have anything to complain about?" You knew it made little sense and you said as much, "A rational part of my brain knows that’s not how it works, but deep in some dark corner of my mind, I just can’t shake that thought and it feels like the truth.” 

He shook his head slightly, his gaze softened and the corners of his mouth twisted into a frown. “I don’t-” he sighed helplessly, “I have no idea how I can say this in a way that can get to you.” His eyes locked with yours, the vulnerability in them gave you pause. You let your hands fall to your lap again and he continued, “I imagine there is no way at all for you to believe me.”

You both fell silent. You wished you could contradict him, but you knew he was right. Michael lowered his eyes, then looked around the room as if the solution was waiting somewhere just out of reach and all he had to do was find where it was hiding. He opened his mouth to speak several times, and closed it just as many. 

When it seemed like the right words wouldn’t come to him any time soon, you spoke instead. “I trust you,” you said with conviction, “I  _ know _ that you love me, but I still think that’s only because you don’t know all of it yet.” You gritted your teeth. You knew that your next words were unpleasant, but you had no other way to say it, so all you could do was hope he understood that it wasn’t about the two of you together, but a fault of yours itself, “Somehow, I can’t trust you enough - and I can’t love my body enough - to think that you won’t run away the moment you see it all.”

You could see something in his eyes shift, you didn’t have the words to describe what was in them. You lowered your gaze and your heart squeezed painfully in your chest. For the first time during the entire conversation, the fear that this was going to end your relationship became concrete. “I want this, and I want you. But I can’t ask you to wait forever,” your voice refused to come out above a whisper, “so I will understand if you want things to end.”

He shook his head and lifted your chin. He looked into your eyes with purpose and said with utmost certainty, “You don’t owe me this.” He paused, his eyes flittered between yours and you couldn’t look away. “I feel like you might think you owe me sex,” he spoke again, “but you don’t, and I’m not expecting this from you, especially if you’re not ready. I want to be with you regardless.”

You were doubtful. You knew that he wasn’t lying, that he truly believed what he was saying, but you couldn’t imagine him not becoming fed up with your insecurity and the repetitiveness of your self-hatred eventually. He could see you weren’t convinced, so he tried again, “If you truly want this - not right now,” he hastened to say, “but when you feel completely ready - and you think it would be a good idea, we can go through it together.”

You shook your head, “I can’t ask you this-”

“You’re not,” he insisted, taking your hands back into his, “I am the one offering.”

“I don’t know, I-” you looked down at your hands, “I don’t even know what I should do.”

“That’s okay,” he reassured you and then paused, so you looked up at his face. He smiled sweetly at you and continued, “We have all the time in the world to figure it out. There’s no rush.” He said it in such a nonchalant, natural way, that for a second you couldn't help but believe him, and a small tentative smile bloomed on your lips. Maybe, for now, that would be enough.

“Is that a promise?” you asked him half-jokingly, trying to steer the conversation toward a lighter end.

Michael didn’t hesitate. “Yes,” he said only, looking directly into your eyes without a trace of uncertainty. 

The conviction in his voice made your smile falter and turn painful. “I’ll hold you to that,” you whispered.

He smiled again, unperturbed, and took you in his arms. You closed your eyes against his neck and hugged him back. He kissed you on the side of your forehead and squeezed you tighter.

 

-

 

The morning after your first time together, you woke up feeling sticky and mildly disgusting. During the night, you and Michael had moved around and you’d ended up with your back pressed against his naked front and his arms around your waist. If it hadn’t been for the frankly gross feeling between your legs, you would have loved to be able to stay in the comfort of his embrace forever or at least a couple more hours. but as things were, you really needed to get out of bed and under some warm water.

You turned to Michael and saw that he was still sleeping soundly, mouth slightly open and breath soft against the pillow. It was rare for you to wake up before he did, so you took advantage of the rarity and made up your mind that you would cook some breakfast, maybe waffles, although pancakes would definitely be easier. Either way, you would take your time in the shower to decide.

After getting cleaned up, you went back to the bedroom to put on some clothes. Michael hadn’t woken yet, but he’d pulled the pillow you’d been using towards him and was now hugging it instead of you, his face and nose buried in the fabric. You smiled.

When you got to the kitchen, you were feeling refreshed and determined on making crêpes, and started on your task, pulling ingredients and tools out of cabinets and drawers.

Concentrated as you were over the pan heating on the burner, you almost didn’t notice Michael emerging from the bedroom and through the kitchen door.

He slid behind you and kissed you on the skin where the neck meets the shoulder with a soft “Morning”, pressing his now clothed body against your back and settling his hands on your hips.

You smiled and greeted him back, “Good morning, thought I’d make breakfast.”

He rested his forehead against your skin and hummed, “You didn’t have to.”

“It’s fine, I wanted to,” you reassured him and poured another ladle of the crêpes mixture into the searing pan, “Hope you like crêpes.”

He nodded against your shoulder and circled your waist with his arms, pressing ever closer. “Thank you,” he murmured, punctuating his appreciation with another smattering of kisses on your neck, tickling you and making you giggle. If that was what you got for waking up before him, you would seriously consider doing it more often.

Unwilling to break the contact, you weren’t going to say anything when your position in his embrace became uncomfortable for your cooking, but he was already stepping back and asking, “Can I help with anything?”

You glanced at him, then returned to the pan, “Would you mind getting some plates out?” you asked, then added, “Oh, and some fruit from the fridge if you want any with the crêpes.”

“Sure,” he replied and started pulling glasses and plates out from a cupboard on the side to set them on the kitchen island behind you. When he got to the fridge, he turned to you again, “Do you fancy anything in particular?”

You shook your head. “Anything’s fine,” you replied.

You finished moving the last of the crêpes from the pan to a plate and turned to the kitchen island, ready to dig in. Michael was already sitting on a stool opposite you and you could see that he had cut the fruit into slices and put them in a bowl in the middle of the tabletop where he’d also placed a couple of juice bottles.

“That looks delicious,” he said, gesturing to the plate in your hands.

You set it down next to the fruit bowl and circled around the island so you could sit next to him. He waited for you to settle, then he planted a small kiss on your lips and said with a smile, “Thank you for this.”

You kissed him back one more time and replied, “You’re very welcome.” You both got distracted looking into each other’s eyes and smiling dumbly for a moment, until you put an end to the silence and, gesturing to the food, finally said, “Let’s dig in.”

Michael turned to the full plates in front of him and slid a couple of crêpes into your plate before doing the same for himself. You thanked him and pulled the fruit bowl closer so you could pile some on top of the crêpes while he poured himself a generous glass of orange juice.

You both started eating, a comfortable silence falling between the two of you, the only noise the clinking of the cutlery against the dishes when suddenly Michael put down his fork on the plate where one of his crêpes was still half-eaten and took your free hand into his. You kept chewing the food in your mouth but turned to him, lowering the hand you were using to hold your own fork, and looked at him expectantly.

His eyes were fixed on the food and a few seconds passed before he looked at you and said, once again, in a quieter voice, “Thank you.”

You swallowed and laughed slightly, “It’s okay, you’re very welcome, they’re just crêpes.”

“No, I meant-” he rushed to correct you, then paused, “I meant for last night.” He turned his entire body towards you and joined his other hand to the one that was already holding yours.

You couldn’t help but mirror his position, fork and plate completely forgotten. 

“I wanted to say thank you,” he continued, “for trusting me.”

“That’s- I don’t-” you fumbled, happy but embarrassed. He stopped you.

“Please, I really want you to hear this,” he explained. “Yesterday night was wonderful. Your body is amazing.  _ You _ are amazing,” he corrected himself, “And I don’t have the words to say how happy I feel that you let me in.”

You blushed and looked away, then back to him. “I couldn’t-” you began, but changed your mind, “I  _ wouldn’t _ choose anybody else.” You disentangled one of your hands from his hold so that you could caress his cheek. “You’ve been so patient with me, and I don’t know if I would ever have been able to ask. But you just-” you hesitated, searching for the right words, “You understood what I needed without me having to say anything at all. I still don’t know how I could be so lucky.”

“No, it’s-” he seemed frustrated. “No,” he insisted, “you’re not lucky. You don’t deserve any less.” He squeezed your hand in his almost painfully, trying to get the message across. “I don’t want to give you any less. I love you so much.” It wasn’t the first time he said it, but the intensity was new and any doubt you might have had before completely dissipated. “I want to spend as much of my life with you as I can,” he vowed, “and I want to give you everything.”

Your heart was beating so fast that you were afraid it would jump out of your chest. You could feel his own heartbeat against your fingertips where they were grazing the skin of his wrist. No words came to you, your breath felt like it was stuck in your throat. All you managed to push out was a shaky “I love you, too.” You hoped he understood how much you meant it by your eyes alone, and you didn’t break your gaze on him for even a second.

You only did when you finally pressed your lips against his. Your touch was tender as you took his face in both your palms. He raised his own hands to your neck and deepened the kiss, brushing his nose next to yours and moving his mouth against your own. You could taste the sweet fruit he’d just eaten on his tongue.

When you separated, it felt like you’d been kissing for an eternity and that it still wasn’t enough, but the food was getting cold and the fruit soggy, so you sat back and took your hands from him. He did the same.

With one last smile, the moment was broken, so you both went back to your plates, the clattering noise of the cutlery against the ceramic filling the room once again.

You glanced at him from the corner of your eyes and didn’t turn when you spoke, “You know,” you told him with a tiny smirk and a purposefully nonchalant tone after swallowing another bite, “it’s early still, and I have a day full of nothing planned.”

He looked at you and grinned, then popped a strawberry into his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I decided to post the first chapter of this collection of events, I also thought it would be the only one. The only reason I'm posting more now is the encouragement I received from your comments. I read them, sometimes repeatedly, and they feel like a magnificent present every time.  
> I'm glad someone enjoyed my ramblings - and they are mostly for myself, not gonna lie - so there will be more. It's not going to become a cohesive story in the future, and it's not gonna be posted in a linear timeline, so if that's what you're looking for, I'm sorry and I hope you find something more suitable.
> 
> And no, the crêpes thing wasn't meant to be an Easter egg, I just really like making them.
> 
> In any case, thank you once again for reading!
> 
> EDIT: just a few hours after I posted this chapter, I found out that Sheen and his partner are expecting a child. I will not lie, I now feel unbelievably guilty for having written this fic at all (I thought he was single) and think that the next chapter, which is already finished, will be the last one I post.


	3. One drink, too many, just enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you let yourself go. Usually, alcohol is involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: alcohol consumption.
> 
> Tags will be added as more chapters get posted. I'll specify the content warnings chapter by chapter so that any reader may be able to choose whether to proceed or not according to their needs. Take care of yourselves y'all.

You hadn’t seen your friends in way too long, so when they’d contacted you and asked to meet for a drink, you hadn’t hesitated to say yes. Between a laugh and a story, the drink you’d ordered had gone down easily and, though you’d stayed at the bar for several hours, you’d only ordered one more and nursed it longer, conscious of the fact that they would quickly go to your head, especially on an empty stomach.

Oh, how you missed your high school metabolism. When you were 18, you couldn’t have possibly imagined there would be a day when you would long for your teenage past and, strictly speaking, you still didn’t, but you certainly looked back at being able to down five cocktails without breaking a sweat with sweet melancholy. That’s where your mind was while you struggled to insert the apartment key in the lock.

If asked, you wouldn’t have described yourself as drunk. Sure, you couldn’t take a drink like a like you used to anymore, but a couple of cocktails still weren’t enough to send you there. You were just tipsy. The kind of tipsy that made the floor move a little under your feet and your voice and laugh get just a tad too loud, but you were fully conscious of what you said and what you did even though it was a bit harder to keep full control over it and, more importantly, you would remember each and every single embarrassing thing you did or said the next morning. One would probably use the expression ‘loose-tongued’ if that was indeed an expression that existed. In that particular moment, you weren’t totally certain it was.

You left your keys on the small table next to the entrance and half-stumbled your way to the bedroom, loosening the buttons on your blouse as you went. You felt like you were sweating alcohol through every pore on your skin and you hoped that would be all the punishment your body would dispense for drinking despite knowing you really couldn’t handle it anymore. 

In a remote corner of your brain, you had a feeling it wouldn’t be.

As soon as you got to the bedroom you made a beeline, as quietly as you could manage - which wasn’t all that quietly at all - for the wardrobe so you could leave your bag to hang from the handle. As soon as your hands were free, you struggled to get as many clothes off yourself at once as you could, leaving them scattered on whatever surface your hand could reach, which just meant that most of them ended up on the floor. When you got to your underwear, you decided you’d undressed enough and moved the whole operation to the bathroom to wash off the little make-up you were wearing.

When you got back to the bedroom, you checked that Michael, who’d been sleeping through your divestment, was still doing so and satisfied that he hadn’t woken, you went fishing for your phone in your bag so you could plug it in to charge before going to sleep. 

You were only wearing your underwear, which would have never happened without the alcohol in your system making you rejective of clothes and the absolute certainty that Michael was truly and soundly asleep.

Just as you got hold of your phone with a quiet, triumphant “Ha!”, you heard rustling coming from the bed behind you and slapped your hand on your mouth, turning swiftly around, afraid that your voice had woken Michael.

“Hey,” came his groggy and sleepy voice from between the sheets, “How was your night?”

You made quick work of putting your phone to charge and walked to the bed. You bent down to kiss Michael on the mouth before climbing under the covers with him and saying, “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

He scooted over to give you more space and shook his head, “No, I woke on my own.” Then asked again, “Did you have fun?”

You finally lied down and faced him, taking his face in your hands and giggling slightly. “Hi,” you greeted him softly, it seemed important to you that you did. “I had a great time,” you added to answer his question.

His eyes roamed over your face and realisation dawned on them, he’d just noticed that you were tipsy. He smiled back and circled your naked waist with his arms, pulling you closer. His skin was deliciously sleep-warm, and even though you were still heated up from the alcohol, his embrace was too comfortable to care. “I’m glad to hear that”, he spoke again, “I’d love to meet your friends sometime.”

The idea sounded like the most brilliant you’d ever heard as if you hadn’t had that exact same thought just earlier that night before heading out. “Oh!” you exclaimed, mouth open in excitement and stars in your eyes, “That would be so awesome, we should organise that.” He laughed, you continued, “You know Hannah? I told you about her,” he nodded, “Anyway, she’s writing a book! Isn’t that cool?” He nodded again, his smile grew bigger at your elation. “She said it’s an erotica book,” you whispered conspirationally, “very racy,” and giggled again.

He laughed, too, and said, “We should buy it when she publishes it.”

You nodded fervently, “Oh, yeah, totally.” You fell silent, deep in thought, he looked at your face attentively, trying to predict what you would say next. Finally, you declared, “You know, I could write erotica if I wanted to. I’d write hot shit.”

He snorted, then pursed his lips to try and mask it and asked, “Really? What would you write about?”

You slid your body against his, getting impossibly closer, half-climbing on him and moving one of your legs over his so that you were encircling his hips. “Oh, you know...” you trailed off with fake nonchalance, bumping your nose against his in an almost kiss, “I fantasize...”

“And what about?” he asked you, mischief in the words. His voice rumbled from his chest into yours. It was the deepest it had ever been and you knew he was doing it on purpose. He moved his hand across your hip, finally landing with his palm on your butt and pulling you into him. You could feel his growing erection pressing against you.

You giggled into his cheek, breaking your cool pretence. “Do you really want to know?” you asked him, going for flirty but landing squarely on shy. He hummed in confirmation. You lowered your voice even more and moved your lips to his ear. “I imagine you going down on me for hours,” you managed to get out huskily before pulling back and falling into another fit of giggles. His hand on your ass became firmer.

“That could be arranged”, he was smiling but only half-joking.

You covered your face with both your hands, your giggling muffled by your palms and your cheeks set aflame. You felt silly and hot, arousal pooling in your lower belly. You moved your hands so only your cheeks were still covered and you could look into his eyes, then asked him, “Really?”

He nodded and hummed in confirmation. “Definitely,” he said, visible arousal in the pool of his hooded eyes, and kissed you. The contact turned sloppy and wet very fast.

You circled his neck with your arms, sighing into his mouth, kissing him slow and lazy. He moved his hand from your ass to the inside of your legs and palmed at your panty-clad pelvis, massaging the area with intent and letting his thumb slip just past the elastic. You moaned loudly, eyes closed in pleasure, and moved one of your hands to join his so you could reciprocate the touch through the fabric of his pyjama pants. He quickly became fully erect in your hand.

He pushed against you, so you lay back with him lying half-on you. Then, you moved your other hand down to help push his pants out of the way and grasp his erection fully in your palm. He did the same, slipping his hand inside your underwear and moving his fingers on the skin above and around your entrance. You took his cock firmly into the warmth of your hand and started an up-and-down motion around his length, grazing his head with your thumb every other stroke and teasing his foreskin.

He inched his fingertips closer to your hole, just barely widening your entrance and using the side of his thumb to stimulate your clitoris. You were both moaning into each other’s mouths, narrowly able to steal proper kisses and just sliding your lips against one another. The closest you got to climax, the tighter your bodies locked together, to the point where you could barely even move your hands on each other’s skin anymore.

Michael slipped one of his fingers in, pressing at you from the inside, and crooked his fingertip against a sensitive spot. You stopped your motion on him and groaned loudly so he did it one more time, then twice. You resumed the movement of your hand on his cock, your grip loosening slightly as the pleasure kept mounting. When he added a second finger and pushed even deeper inside, it was enough to send you over the edge, and you came with a whine against his chin. Your hand tightened instinctively around his penis and it pulled his orgasm out of him and onto your hand, a guttural groan escaping his lips.

You stayed like that, panting against each other for a few seconds before slipping your hands from between your bodies. You peered with one eye at your wet palm and hadn’t it been for the tired contentment and the slight tipsiness, you wouldn’t have done the disgusting thing you did next. You moved the hand behind you and carelessly cleaned his come off of it against the sheet covering the mattress. You suspected that, by putting it back on your bum covered by your underwear, Michael was also trying to get the slight stickiness off his own hand. You laughed to yourself at the thought and went back to your cosy place in his arms, burying your nose in his neck and almost purring against his skin. You couldn’t care less about some dirty sheets and underwear.

He tightened his hold around you and moved so you were both lying on your sides and facing each other. Then he smiled and spoke, “You do know we’ll be talking about your ‘fantasy’ again tomorrow, right?”

You murmured a sound of agreement and let sleep take you. You had no idea what he’d just said.

 

-

 

The next morning you woke up to Michael pulling back the curtains of the bedroom window and washing you in warm,  _ bright _ , light.

You whined and covered your eyes, lifting the bedsheet above your head and burying your face in the pillow to try and avoid the coming day. Michael accosted the bed and pulled to nudge the covers down, so gentle that you felt guilty for resisting and just let him do it.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” he said and knelt on the bed so he was hovering above you and shading your face from the light.

You opened one eye and peered at him, he was smiling radiantly. You closed it again, pretending to ignore him, and when he brought a hand up to caress your cheek you lunged at him, hooking both your arms around his neck and pulling him down on the bed with you with a laugh.

He huffed out a surprised breath and went down easily, saving you an elbow in the stomach at just the last second. He lifted himself above you with a forearm on the mattress and checked that you were okay under him. When he saw that you were laughing, he joined in, eyes squeezing into small slits above his huge smile.

When your laughter had finally quieted down, you looked at him with a small smile and greeted, “Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” he replied, and smacked an enthusiastic kiss on your lips, making you laugh again.

You looked at each other in silence, he’d brought his hand to your cheek again and was moving his thumb back and forth on your skin. You blinked a couple of times and felt like you could fall back to sleep easily like that, with his hand on your skin and his warmth in your arms.

“I was thinking,” he began, and you opened your eyes wide, trying to chase away the sleepiness and give him your full attention, “I’d like to try what we talked about yesterday night.”

A high-pitched whine left your throat before you could stop it. You squeezed your eyes and buried your face in his chest, embarrassment setting your cheeks aflame. “I will never drink a single drop of alcohol ever again,” you declared and groaned, “I can’t believe I actually said that.”

He stroked your hair gently, then nudged you back so he could look at your face when he spoke next, you forced yourself to reciprocate the eye-contact but your embarrassment hadn’t subsided. “I’m glad you did,” he told you, “But I’ll drop it if that’s what you want.”

You smiled at him, you appreciated him giving you space, but you wanted to reassure him that you were okay and it wasn’t that big of a deal. “I mean, it’s not like I haven’t thought about it,” you croaked out, “I just didn’t think I’d ever actually tell you.”

“Well,” he countered, “As I said, I’m glad you did and I’m  _ definitely _ not opposed to the idea.” He raised his eyebrows to underline the point, and you understood that he meant the thought had crossed his mind too.

“I mean...” You trailed off and licked your lips. It was difficult to keep a thrilled little laugh in, but you managed. “Yeah, okay,” you nodded, unable to keep the smirk off your face, “Let’s maybe do that some time.”

Michael smirked, too. He kissed you on the neck once - you giggled - then on the lips. Finally, he disentangled himself from your embrace and said, “Now come on, I made coffee,” and stood up.

You huffed, throwing your head back dramatically. Eventually, you surrendered to the after all not-so -unpleasant idea of having to get out of bed and dressed and followed him to the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this after a night out with some friends when I got a bit tipsy and regretted being as loud as I was almost immediately after getting home. I realise now that this fanfiction was just becoming a list of insecurities I'm afraid others find annoying and projecting myself into a character who has someone who will accept and love those exact insecurities as they come.
> 
> Michael Sheen just happened to be the current obsession when I started!
> 
> And this is me signing off for the last time. Thank you for leaving comments, thank you for the kudos and for the support. I had fun while it lasted and I hope you guys did too.  
> Thank you so much for reading this far!
> 
> Until next time x


	4. Sweet Music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slow dancing is a great cure for a scare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: food mentions and crying (but what else is new).
> 
> This is as cheesy as it's consistently been so far, so read at your own discretion.

It had been a quiet day. Michael had left early that morning, and you’d been stuck at home with a mild flu. The freezing wind blowing against the windows was making the glass rattle something fierce, and just then, you were glad you’d stayed home.

You’d spent most of the day napping on the sofa and occupying yourself with idle activities like mindlessly watching TV and reading a couple of chapters of a new book when your mind-numbing headache allowed. You were feeling better, though, and the boredom was starting to get to you.

Sick of the taste of the hot tea-medicine you’d been downing all day, you decided it was cold enough for a big mug of hot chocolate and got up to make it, putting on some music to fill up the room as you went.

You played a random playlist on your phone and left it on the kitchen counter while you pulled a pan out from a low pantry. You absent-mindedly sang along whatever song came on and proceeded to get some milk out of the refrigerator and the box of the good cocoa powder from behind some cans in another one of the cabinets. You hadn’t exactly hidden it, but you had purposefully put it as far away from the most used cabinet as possible. Michael always used cocoa powder when he made tomato sauce - which was delicious - but that particular brand was too expensive not be the star of the show, so you’d also bought a cheaper one for him to use more often.

“... be still my foolish heart… hmm... hmmm… sweet music playing in the dark...” you hummed while adding a couple of tablespoons of cocoa to the pan without turning on the burner. Then you poured a splash of milk too and mixed it slowly until it formed a thick syrupy liquid. When the powder had completely dissolved, you turned on the stove and slowly combined in the rest of the milk. You didn’t stop humming and singing while it warmed.

You stirred unhurriedly. “... the very thought of you and am I blue… hmmm seems far removed...” - the milky chocolate started thickening up again. When it was the right consistency, you turned off the stove and, as the song drifted into its ending verses, you transferred the hot chocolate to your usual mug. You grabbed your singing phone and turned around to go back to sit on the couch.

“Jesus!” you jolted and almost dropped everything on the floor when you saw Michael leaning with his shoulder against the kitchen entrance. You sighed and closed your eyes, pushing the mug and the phone on the counter and gripping your chest with your right hand. You looked at him and said, “I could have dropped my hot cocoa, I didn’t even hear you come in.”

“I know,” he replied, laughing slightly. He stepped inside and circled around the kitchen island so he could greet you with a kiss. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he explained, “I just didn’t want you to stop singing.”

You blushed and grimaced, “You heard that?”

He smiled and nodded, “It was wonderful.” He kissed you again, then asked, “Would you sing for me some more?”

You would have refused if not for the hopeful look he gave you. You rolled your eyes and sighed exasperatedly, knowing that you couldn’t say no when he looked at you like that. He knew it too. You glanced back at him and smiled, “Fine,” you conceded.

His smile widened. You took a deep breath and steeled yourself, you didn’t like being exposed like that in front of others, but for Michael, you would make an effort. It was just you and him after all. You didn’t have the time to change your mind again because just then, the next song started playing, the universe doing everything in its power to not let you wriggle out of it. A few piano notes played - you almost groaned when you recognised the song - then the lyrics started, so you closed your eyes and sang along.

“When the rain is blowing in your face and the whole world is on your case, I could offer you a warm embrace to make you feel my love.” He placed his hands on your hips and pulled you closer, swaying slowly to the music. The little knot of anxiety in your chest almost dissolved when you felt the warmth from his touch seep into your clothes and in your skin.

You opened your eyes and sang the next words right into his, “When the evening shadows and the stars appear and there is no one there to dry your tears, oh I could hold you for a million years to make you feel my love.”

He was smiling radiantly at you. There was so much devotion in his eye that you couldn’t take it. So you closed your eyes again, incapable of saying the next words while facing the feeling pouring out of him. “I know you haven't made your mind up yet, but I will never do you wrong.” You took a deep breath and carried on, your eyes wetting behind your closed eyelids, “I've known it fro-” you stopped and your eyes shot open when you heard his voice join yours. 

“I’ve known it from the moment that we met,” he sang unwaveringly and pulled you into his arms as his voice lowered. He continued, the rumbling breaths of his singing flowing right into your ear, “no doubt in my mind where you belong.”

You could feel the words nestle into the very core of your body, you were overwhelmed.

He kept swaying to the music. You’d hugged him back and were crying quietly, but he hadn't noticed. When you didn’t resume singing, he stopped and pulled back to look at you. His sweet smile froze and fell from his face. “Oh, no, sweetheart,” he brushed away a tear from your cheek and pulled you in again, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

You shook your head against his shoulder and after a beat, you pulled back. You smiled and reassured him, “It’s okay, I’m just,” you paused, your next words came out on a chuckle, “so happy.”

His momentary worry dissipated, and he smiled back, then laughed, and squeezed you almost too tight against his chest. “I am, too.” You separated and he stroked your wet cheek.

You leaned into his touch and closed your eyes, the hot chocolate lay forgotten on the kitchen counter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, remember when I said I would stop writing for this fic? Turns out I'm a clown!  
> All jokes aside, I sometimes feel genuinely bad for writing this fic, but I also can't stop myself because it's a great outlet for my own very much repressed vulnerabilities. Basically: free therapy, baby!
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading, I really hope you enjoyed this chapter.  
> I will probably be writing more here and there when I feel like it, so keep posted, I guess!  
> Oh, and I also went back and tweaked and edited some stuff that was bothering me in the previous chapters. There's no huge change, but I did add some things here and there so feel free to go back and see if you can find the differences if you feel like it!


	5. As real as fantasy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your brain just won't go to sleep, and since you have the bed all to yourself, you decide to take matters into your own hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: slight voyeurism and masturbation.
> 
> Tags will be added as more chapters get posted. I'll specify the content warnings chapter by chapter so that any reader may be able to choose whether to proceed or not according to their needs. Take care of yourselves y'all.
> 
> This one is 18+, but I'm not the boss of you.

You’d gotten home pretty late that night, and you’d decided to wait up for Michael to get back later still.

The last time you looked at the clock on your bedside table, it was past 2 AM and the music coming from your headphones was close to not being enough of a deterrent for boredom anymore.

You were lying on your bed in your underwear and a ratty t-shirt, and your fingers were tapping a quick rhythm on your navel, head bobbing in time with the song playing in your ears. You’d turned on the heating system high enough to be almost stifling which was the reason why, despite being in November and wearing almost nothing, you didn’t need the duvet you had left bunched up at the end of the bed.

In any case, you would have highly preferred that the warmth had come from Michael lying next to you.

You contemplated the possibility of just calling it a night and not wait for him to get back anymore, but you were feeling kind of wired anyway and even if you tried to sleep right then, you definitely wouldn’t have had any success.

You huffed out an annoyed breath and looked at the clock again. It was nearing 3 AM and Michael was nowhere to be seen. You weren’t worried, he’d already warned you that he was going to be late that night.

You picked up your phone from where you’d left it on the bed and scrolled through your music files, trying to find a mellow song that could help you relax and hopefully fall asleep. You found one and put it on, turning off the lamp by your side of the bed and closing your eyes. You took a couple of deep breaths and settled more comfortably against the mattress; then, you turned your full attention to the music, trying to track the thumping of the bass so you could concentrate on it and slow the rhythm of your heartbeat.

It worked, for a minute or two. Soon enough, however, you found your thoughts drifting away from the music and into a complicated web of inane threads. You sighed, when your brain got like that it was impossible to shut it off.

Then, an idea struck you, something that could have actually helped you fall asleep.

You lowered the volume of the music and wiggled yourself deeper into the mattress. Then, you closed your eyes and tried to think about Michael. You imagined him stroking your ankle with his thick, soft fingers, slowly inching higher and higher but stopping just before he reached your thigh.

You pictured him lowering himself on you, his body pressing hotly into yours. You slipped one of your hands on your stomach under your shirt, slightly lifting it out of the way, and with the other you teased at the skin just above the elastic of your underwear, letting your nails barely graze under it.

As you thought about the weight of his erection pressing against the inside of your thighs, you moved your hand higher towards your breasts, lifting the t-shirt to your neck and exposing your bra. You pushed your hand inside one of the cups and pulled out one of your breasts so you could gently finger your nipple to hardness. You circled your index and middle fingers around it, stopping every couple of moments to pinch the nub lightly. At times, you cupped the roundness of your boob with your palm, squeezing it delicately like Michael sometimes liked doing.

You paused for a second so you could use your other hand to finally move your panties out of the way and pushed them over your legs and then off completely and went back to caress the skin of your underbelly, determined to draw it out and not letting your arousal dictate how long this was going to last. If you had let it, it would have already been over.

With your left hand, you’d pulled your other breast out, too, and you were now alternating between massaging one or the other. Your nipples had hardened quickly and the heat of the room made them feel like heavy fabric was brushing against them even when your hand was otherwise occupied.

You opened your legs and pressed hard with your palm against your pubes then finally slid your hand lower, using your fingers to expose your vulva. As the Michael in your head rolled against you, his erection thrusting thickly between your legs, you rubbed at the skin above and below your clitoris with your middle finger and teased at your entrance with your fingertip, taking it back out almost immediately and starting a slow and steady circular motion around your knot of nerve endings, not quite touching it directly but brushing against it enough to make tiny sparks of pleasure travel through your body.

It took all you had not to hasten your rhythm. A part of you wanted to come fast and hard, but what little common sense was left in your mind clouded by arousal knew that dragging it out would make it that much more intense and hopefully exhaust you to the bone. So you paced yourself, circling and circling with your fingers around your nipples, rubbing in slow, painstaking strokes your clitoris and lips.

Your imagination must have gotten away from you then because you could feel the imaginary heat of Michael’s hand circling your ankle again. You tried to shake the image off, it was becoming a distraction rather than help with your current fantasy, but you realised that you couldn’t. The reason for that was that it wasn’t your imagination at all.

Deep in concentration as you were and with the music muting the room around you, you hadn’t heard him come back. You opened your eyes and when you saw him sitting at the foot of the bed, you jumped up with a scream. Your headphones dislodged from your head and you pulled your t-shirt down as low as it would go with an abrupt yank of both hands in an attempt to cover your privates, at the same time scrambling with your feet on the bed to push yourself to sit up against the pillows.

Michael had let go of your ankle in the commotion and sat with his hands in his lap and a guilty smile on his face.

You gaped at him, lost for words and face aflame with embarrassment.

When he didn’t say anything and no words came to you either, you just groaned and hid your face in your elbow. “Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohm-” your mouth moved on its own, the redness in your face gave no sign of abating. You imagined what you must have looked like to him just then, legs spread out carelessly on the mattress and your body laid out in plain view for him without you having the slightest clue. He could have been there for as long as he would have wanted if he hadn’t touched you, and it was exactly that thought that kept feeding your arousal, which had no intention of dimming. You were certainly embarrassed, but it seemed that the thought of Michael watching you had done the exact opposite of quelling it and you wondered what exactly was wrong with you.

“So,” he started, you uncovered your eyes just enough to see him, but he wasn’t looking at you, “I’m home.” He looked up, guilty but titillated smile still fixed on his face, and you responded with a nasty look.

He laughed slightly, then tried to cover it up, probably realising that it only made his position worse.

“You know,” he tried again, “That was...” he trailed off, searching for the right word, “...hot,” he finished, rather eloquently.

You groaned again, sinking your face back into your arm and sliding slightly lower on the bedsheet. “The worst part,” you croaked out, almost only for your own ears, and admitted, “is that this is doing nothing to turn me off.”

You finally lowered your arm, the need to see his reaction stronger than your embarrassment, and he was looking at you inquisitively. “Then,” he began, “why not continue?” he shrugged, fakely nonchalant. He had a twinkle in his eyes that told you you weren’t the only one to find the situation strangely exciting.

You swallowed heavily and considered his words carefully. You opened your mouth to reply, but hesitated, looking away. Then, before you could fully make up your mind, he grabbed your ankle again and pulled you firmly towards him, forcing you to slide back down to lie on the bed and making the back of your t-shirt ride up abruptly, uncovering most of your naked rear. You yelped.

He scooted closer so he could sit between your legs. He was sitting with his side to you and his own legs were under one of yours and dangling from the edge of the bed. He slid the hand he’d used to pull you down higher on your skin and rested it gently on your thigh. He turned a little ways toward you and reached hesitantly with his other hand for yours that were still gripping tightly at the t-shirt pulled down to cover you.

Your heart was beating loudly, you could feel that the warmth of your blush had spread to your chest and you regretted turning the heat in the house so high. You gulped and let him pry your fingers from the fabric of your top that rode up almost immediately without the strain keeping it down. You looked at him, but he was watching down intently. For a second, you thought he was looking at your body, but when he reached for the shirt and moved it slowly to expose your stomach, you realised he was concentrating on his motion, following it with his gaze before lifting his eyes to look at you.

You weren’t sure what emotion was showing on your face. If you had to guess you would have said apprehension, but it didn’t matter, because whatever he was seeing, he just smiled kindly at you.

You swallowed again. He lowered his hand to the mattress and leaned on it, the only touch connecting you was his hot palm on your thigh. He didn’t say anything, patiently waiting for you to take the next step. Even though he hadn’t asked anything of you, something in his eyes compelled you to give him exactly what he was hoping for. You realised at that moment, that even if you had been wearing several layers of clothes, you couldn’t have been any bearer under his scrutiny and that excited you.

The embarrassment hadn’t subsided at all, but by that point, you were too aroused to care anymore.

So you repeated what you’d done before Michael had seen you and lifted one your hands again, moving the t-shirt completely out of the way once again and resuming the stimulation to your breasts. Reprising your other activity took slightly more effort. You were tempted to shut your knees against each other and hide yourself, but his position prevented it and it gave you an excuse to just go for it, so you did.

You caressed your vulva with a firm stroke of your palm and used your fingers to put yourself on show for him again. You noticed his hand on your thigh twitch as if itching to reach out and do the job itself and you smirked slightly, a shaky sigh leaving your lips inadvertently.

Michael wasn’t looking at your face anymore, but staring raptly at the motion of your hand. His gaze felt like a physical weight against your skin, and the next sound that left your mouth was careless and full of lust.

He tightened his fingers on your thigh and lifted the other hand off the mattress. It stopped motionless in mid-air, twitching to reach out. You held your breath in anticipation, expecting him to take over the motion at the entrance to your vagina, but he only moved it to grip at your waist. You could tell he’d stopped himself from doing otherwise and you whined exasperatedly as you flicked your fingers around your clitoris. You heard him inhale sharply.

You closed your eyes and made it your mission to put on such a show that he couldn’t resist touching you anymore. You exaggerated the motion of your left hand on your breasts, pulling almost painfully at your nipples and quickened the motion between your legs, making sure to let your fingers plunge inside insistently. Finally, you let out every sound you might have otherwise choked, moaning and sighing with abandon as you pushed your fingertips deeper inside yourself.

It seemed to work because you heard him groan quietly and then you felt his hand on your other breast. You opened your eyes and grinned toothily. He looked at you from under his lashes with an expression that said he was completely aware of just having been thoroughly defeated. You threw your head back in a laugh and choked on it when he pinched roughly at your nipple. You gasped, the pain shooting pleasurable sparks through your skin.

He did it again, gentler this time, and lowered his face to your stomach. His other hand slid higher to the crease where your thigh meets your hip and he turned more fully towards you so he could kiss the skin of your belly. He kissed at the trembling flesh once, then twice more as you kept pushing your fingers in and out of your pussy, moans escaping your throat more and more insistently with each of his pecks.

You weren’t expecting it when he bit the soft flesh of your belly. It didn’t hurt you, but you jerked all the same, the contrast between his mild hums against your skin and the sudden hardness of his teeth taking you by surprise.

He took his hand from the crease of your thigh and circled your wrist instead, urging your already accelerating touches to go deeper and harder, all the while leaving a wet trail with his lips and tongue on your underbelly and continuing to massage at your chest.

You’d stopped your own movement on your breasts, too concentrated on the furious motion of your other hand, and were just holding your boob in your strengthless, careless palm, Michael’s hand doing enough work on the other for the both of you.

You let his hand dictate the motion of your wrist and started panting with every push of your fingers inside, moaning louder and louder as you went. When he slid one of his thicker fingers inside with yours, you couldn’t take it anymore and came with a shout and a whine, tightening around his and your fingers almost painfully, your pussy pulsing with heat and pleasure around the digits.

Michael took his finger out, you did the same, and soon enough his hands and lips were gone from your body, leaving you shivering in the absence. You lay there panting with your eyes closed for a few seconds, then you sat up and looked at him. He was reclining on both hands and looking at you with a mesmerized smile. You pulled your t-shirt down lazily, but not as low as before, and leaned in to kiss him. He brought one of his hands to your cheek and kept smiling into your mouth through one, two, maybe five small kisses.

When you separated, you didn’t stray far, and he kept caressing your jaw and neck. You closed your eyes against his palm and sighed contentedly. When you opened your eyes again, you noticed the bulge in his pants and felt incredibly flattered.

You reached with both your hands, intentioned on pulling down the zipper and reciprocating his earlier favour but he stopped you, “It’s okay, I’ll take care of it.”

You frowned, “Are you sure? I don’t mind.”

He hummed in confirmation and smiled. Then, he kissed you again and stood up, and disappeared through the door to the bathroom.

You stood too and moved your phone and headphones from the bed, then made quick work of putting your discarded panties and bra in the laundry bin. You exited the bedroom and went to the guest bathroom to freshen up and put on some clean underwear. On the way there, you made sure to turn down the thermostat to a less stifling temperature.

When you got back, you settled into bed again just as Michael got out of the bathroom. He’d undressed to his underwear and he seemed a bit flushed. His erection was gone. He threw his clothes in the laundry bin too and grabbed a t-shirt to wear to bed. Then, he finally joined you under the covers.

You lay close to each other in the middle of the mattress, barely touching. He kept distractedly brushing your hair from your forehead and just looking at you. His blinks got longer and heavier and you smiled tiredly, also on the brink of sleep.

Before you both closed your eyes one last time for the night, you touched at his chest gently and burrowed closer, brushing your nose against his.

“This seems a bit unbalanced,” you said teasingly.

He furrowed his brows and looked at you with confusion.

“Well,” you began, “I put on a show for you,” you explained, “seems only fair you do the same for me sometime.”

He chuckled and encircled your waist with his arm, pulling your body against his. “With pleasure,” he replied.

You laughed into each other’s mouths, and between one kiss and the next, you eventually fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The working title for this chapter was, and I quote, Masty Session.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed, and thank you for reading this far! :D


End file.
